


interlude

by orphan_account



Series: piece by piece, rubble to rubble [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s02e01 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen: Part 1, Episode: s02e02 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen: Part 2, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, post-rosslyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Recovery is not a linear experience.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, pre-
Series: piece by piece, rubble to rubble [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644367
Comments: 4
Kudos: 87





	interlude

Josh was in a shitty mood. 

He was over a month post-op, one week discharged. So, still incapacitated enough to be winded after walking to the kitchen, recovered enough to be pissed about it. 

Donna had been busy with work, trying to help stem the flood of some state emergency she wouldn’t tell him about and practically do his job. She still stopped by at least once a day, and ended up staying over at least three days out of the week, but he’d been asleep when she came over three days in a row. Aside from the never-ending stream of letters and requests from daytime TV hosts, he hadn’t talked to anyone save his mother and Sam, for three minutes, in a week. He’d read four books on theoretical physics this week alone, and Donna hadn’t had time to run to the library, so he was pretty sure his brain was atrophying as fast as any muscles he had left from his rowing days. He’d been getting progressively more irritated, snapping so much at his home health aide, Sarah, that she’d cried, and he’d had to apologize.

All in all, Josh was having a shitty week. And then, for the cherry on top: this morning, he woke up feeling overheated, with dry eyes and his half-healed incision burning through his chest. He’d sweat through his shirt, threw up last night’s dinner, and, on top of it, Donna had already gone into work. So, he had sat on the cold bathroom floor until Sarah got there and stared at the ceiling, and wondered why he had never thought of this happening when he agreed to come on the Bartlet Campaign. Sarah had gotten him up, changed, and given him a low dose of aspirin with lunch, but it hadn’t done anything but upset his stomach more.

He’d retreated to his room and told her he was taking a nap, laid heavily down on his bed, and proceeded to feel very, very, very, sorry for himself. 

He curled further into his side, wincing as his chest protested every moment he made and hot tears stained his pillow case. There wasn’t even a good reason why he was crying. As much as he wanted to blame it on the fever, it was at least partially outside causes. The days after the shooting had been a veritable parade of dignitaries, flowers, calls from important people. He was only left alone by order of the nurse, and even then, there was always Donna, curled up on a chair next to him, reading to him, brushing hair off his forehead, holding his hand when he hurt. But now he was a month in, and things had trickled down to the First Lady checking in every once in a while, and Toby and CJ stopping by when they could. And in between, he was alone, breaking a sweat over doing terribly difficult things like walking to the bathroom, and waking up at 3 AM with a scream caught in his throat. 

Josh guessed he never realized how lonely recovery could be. 

“Josh?”

He heard the door creak open, and the bed dipped. A cool, soft hand on his shoulder. 

“Sarah called me, said you weren’t feeling well,” Donna said softly. 

Josh couldn’t look at her. There was a 0% chance that his eyes weren’t red and puffy, and he had no good explanation. 

She definitely knew he was awake, because he heard her sigh, and then two distinctive thunks, like she had kicked off her shoes. Her hand lifted from his shoulder and placed itself on his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” She said, alarmed. “Does Sarah know you have a fever? Do you want water, or maybe a cold pack, or-“

Her hand lifted off, and before he could stop himself-

“No,” Josh said hoarsely, desperately. “Just stay. Please.” 

A moment. 

And then the bed dipped again, and Donna was sitting next to him, her side to his back. She ran her hands over his shoulders. 

Josh breathed. 

“Go to sleep, Josh,” she said softly. “I’m not leaving.” 

She swept his hair off his forehead, and he suddenly didn’t feel so alone anymore, so he did. 


End file.
